


An Awful Lot to be Thankful For

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: Bad Things Happen (again and again and again) [7]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Burns, Concussions, Explosions, Gen, Major Character Injury, Team Bonding, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, hearing loss, internal injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: For the Bad Things Happen square: Broken boneHe's never had close friends. At least, not since he was ten years old and his world fell apart. But now, he's sitting around the table with a group of people so important to him that, though he's never admitted it aloud, he considers more than friends.They're family.
Series: Bad Things Happen (again and again and again) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741687
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	An Awful Lot to be Thankful For

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving my American friends!!
> 
> (And happy birthday to Lamu26, who said it would be cool to get a new story notification today, since it's Thanksgiving AND their birthday 😉)
> 
> I hope everyone out there is having a great day, stuffing themselves full of food, spending the day with friends and family (even if that means over zoom), and remembering how much there is to be thankful for.
> 
> I, for one, am thankful for Prodigal Son for bringing us all together here, in such an awesome fandom, and giving us these amazing characters to play with!
> 
> Love to you all ❤

Malcolm, of course, finishes eating before anyone else. To his credit, he did put in an effort and tried a few bites of anything that he knew wouldn't make him immediately ill. Even still, the rest of the team is still eating, passing around platters of turkey and bowls full of mashed potatoes, brussel sprouts, stuffing, and a dozen other sides as he sits back in his chair, feeling overly stuffed but gloriously content.

He's never had close friends. At least, not since he was ten years old and his world fell apart. But now, he's sitting around the table with a group of people so important to him that, though he's never admitted it aloud, he considers more than friends.

They're family.

Gil, of course, has been both family and friend, mentor and confidante, for a long time now. And right now, as the man sits at the head of the table with a smile on his face that somehow erases years of stress and strife, Malcolm couldn't be more thankful to have him in his life.

Everyone else here, though, is a new and unexpected addition in his life.

Dani is seated to Gil's left, directly across from Malcolm, with a look on her face that's stalled somewhere between amused and concerned as Edrisa regales them with tales of her semester abroad — fortunately leaving out anything too gruesome and focusing on the more social aspect of her time away, like karaoke clubs and cuddle parties. It's a roundabout way for her to say what she's thankful for, but Malcolm doesn't mind in the slightest. The woman's enthusiasm for, well, _everything_ , is contagious.

Even JT, at the other end of the table from Gil, is laughing as she describes her first thoughts as she walked into a cuddle party. JT apparently left his usual stone-cold facade at home and has been much quicker with a smile or a laugh tonight than Malcolm has ever seen. Though that could also have something to do with the _very_ pregnant Tally that's sitting between JT and Malcolm.

Over the course of the last year or so, the five of them have come to mean the world to Malcolm, and he can't help but smile as he looks around the table. A little over a year ago, back before he was fired from the FBI, he never would have guessed that this year, he'd be spending Thanksgiving with a group of people that accepted him for who he is, and that he loved fiercely in return.

Gil catches his eye and tilts his head, the silent, "You good, kid?" sounding loud and clear in Malcolm's head, and he nods in response, earning a warm smile from Gil in return.

He couldn't be better.

"I mean, once you get over the initial awkwardness, it's actually a wonderful experience! Enlightening, even," Edrisa exclaims, her fork swinging through the air as she gestures with her hands. "We should totally try it sometime! Six people is definitely enough to get a good cuddle party started and —"

"Nope."

"Not a chance."

"No way in hell am I cuddling up with anyone besides my wife."

Gil, Dani, and JT all cut off Edrisa's suggestion before she's even finished making it, but the good natured smiles and choked back laughs are enough to take the sting from the rejection and Edrisa just shrugs and stabs a piece of turkey, delicately biting it off her fork.

"You'll never know what you're missing," she says as she chews and Malcolm can tell by the way her lips twitch up at the corners that she was expecting that response from the group of closed off detectives.

Malcolm flashes her a quick smile, letting her know he's onto her game and she looks away with a blush. He knows she's still shaking off the last remnants of her crush on him, but they're working past that, focusing on their blooming friendship and their shared love of the strange and macabre.

"I'm totally cool with missing out on that," JT says easily, reaching over to give Tally's hand a squeeze. "How about you guys?"

Gil just chuckles and adds another scoop of cranberry sauce to his turkey, shaking his head fondly, but Dani speaks up as soon as she's wiped her lips with her napkin and swallowed the bit of food she'd just eaten. 

"Yeah, I think I'll be okay not knowing what I'm missing," she gives Edrisa a playful nudge with her elbow to let her know it's all in good fun.

"Fine, have it your way," Edrisa says with an exaggerated pout that's belied by the twinkle in her eye. "JT, you're next. What are you thankful for this year?"

Malcolm doesn't think any of them actually need to ask. JT has been a ball of nervous excitement for weeks now, waiting for the arrival of their little one. And anyone who's seen the way he looks at Tally knows exactly what the man is thankful for. 

"I am thankful for this beautiful woman right here," JT says, gazing into Tally's eyes as he brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses her knuckles in a gesture that seems to convey just how much the burly detective means his words. "Thankful that she's carrying our child, that she puts up with my bullshit—"

"Language," she warns with a soft smile.

"And thankful that we've been blessed with this life together. I love you, hon," JT finishes, ignoring her admonishment entirely. Malcolm already knows that not a single cuss word will pass that man's lips when he's around their child, but, as he's told them all repeatedly, while the baby is still snug in Tally's belly, he doesn't feel the need to censor himself.

Tally discreetly wipes a few tears away with the hand that JT isn't holding, muttering, "Stupid hormones," around a hitched breath.

Edrisa, meanwhile, has her hands clasped together in front of her chest, looking absolutely enamoured in the display of affection between the married couple. Even Dani has a small smile softening her features at the open declaration of love.

"Same for me," Tally sniffles and dabs away a few more tears with the edge of her napkin. 

Her answer draws a chuckle from everyone at the table and the rest of them turn their attention away from JT and Tally to give them a moment of privacy — or as private a moment as they can manage with the six of them in Gil's cozy dining room, seated around a table whose small leaf in the center doesn't quite manage to convert the table from a four-seater to the supposed six-seater it claims to be. Which, as far as Malcolm is concerned, couldn't really be more perfect.

"Can I get anyone anything else?" Gil asks, leaning back in his chair with a hand over his stomach, showing just how full he is. He still has a few bites of food left on his plate, and Malcolm doesn't doubt that he'll finish them after he's let his food digest a little.

"I'm so full I could burst," Dani answers first, laying her napkin next to her cleared off plate.

"I wouldn't mind a few more brussel sprouts," Edrisa says, still working on her own plate. Dani scrunches up her nose in distaste but passes them over nonetheless, and Edrisa adds another scoop to her plate. "I've never tried them with bacon and pine nuts. They're delicious!"

"Thank you," Gil says sincerely. "They were one of Jackie's recipes. She'd be pleased you're enjoying them."

And Malcolm knows just how true that statement is. Jackie was the type of woman that fed every guest that walked through the front door. Appetizers, meals, desserts, snacks, late night spreads on the kitchen table, if you were in the Arroyo home, Jackie was probably trying to feed you.

One weekend, when Malcolm was eleven and reading The Lord of the Rings in class, he asked Jackie if she might just be half-hobbit. Her laugh had filled the house, and she winked at him, whispering a quiet, "We can discuss it over second breakfast."

Jackie would be thrilled her recipes are still being used to feed guests in the house.

Even once everyone has eaten their fill — though the amount of food left on the table hardly looks like they've made a dent — no one seems in any hurry to move from the table. They stay seated, chatting about everything and anything, sipping on their glasses of wine (sparkling water for Tally and Edrisa who, unfortunately, is on call), and enjoying each other's company.

It's quite some time later when Gil says something about putting the food away and getting some coffee brewing to accompany dessert.

A round of groans accompany the statement, but Malcolm knows full well that when the pie and squares come out, all of them will partake of the homemade goodies.

Malcolm gets to his feet as Gil does, ready to help bring the remainder of the food and all of their dishes to the kitchen. When JT and Dani push back from the table as well, Gil holds up a hand to stop them.

"Sit. Relax," Gil says as he grabs the platter of turkey in one hand a bowl of green bean casserole with the other. "I'll take care of getting this cleaned up and get dessert ready."

Malcolm, as per usual, ignores Gil's order and picks up the mashed potatoes and gravy boat and follows after Gil, heading down the hallway to the kitchen on the other side of the house.

"Pretty sure I said I was gonna take care of everything," Gil grins as Malcolm shows up behind him in the kitchen.

"Jackie would have my head if I left all the heavy lifting to you," Malcolm says as he places his load on the counter and then opens the cupboard where Gil keeps all of his storage containers, pulling out a stack of them to use for leftovers.

"Tally just threatened me with the same thing," JT laughs as he walks through the doorway with a stack of dirty dishes in his hands. At Gil's direction he sets them beside the sink for Gil to take care of after everyone leaves. Malcolm intends to stay and help with that, too, and the warm look Gil shoots him says that Gil already knows it.

With the three of them making trips, it doesn't take long before the table is cleared off. Their brief stints in the dining room to grab food and dishes allows them to overhear the ladies discussing the finer points of pregnancy, and even with just the bits and pieces that Malcolm picks up, Malcolm has a whole new level of respect for women in general, and Tally in specific.

"I don't know how she does it," JT says earnestly as he and Malcolm make their way back to the kitchen with the final dishes of leftovers. "That woman is making a whole new life in her body, working full time, taking care of my sorry ass, and still looking fly while she does it."

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what she's doing with you," Malcolm jokes and dodges the swat to the back of the head that flies his way. "Honestly, though, she's amazing and I'm really happy for you both."

"Thanks, man." JT's crooked smile makes it clear he's thinking of Tally as he scoops leftover peas and carrots into a container, and Malcolm can't help but marvel just how much softer the man is where his wife and child are concerned. He really couldn't be more different than the sombre and stoney detective that Malcolm sees at work each day.

Gil starts pulling desserts out as JT and Malcolm take care of the leftovers, tossing the apple pie in the oven and pulling the pumpkin pie from the fridge to set on the counter, letting the chill wear off while they wait. Malcolm knows there's a platter full of squares along with a rice pudding in the fridge as well.

"Think you got enough food here, boss?" JT teases as he and Malcolm store away the food and watch Gil pull out more and more desserts.

Malcolm starts to wonder if Gil has maybe missed hosting these types of events since Jackie passed. It never really occurred to him that maybe it wasn't all Jackie's doing when they used to have their house filled with friends and family, overflowing with love and laughter. He makes a mental note to ask Gil about it later.

"An absurd amount of food is a Thanksgiving tradition in my family, I'll have you know," Gil laughs as he turns his attention to the coffee maker on the counter, pulling filters and a bag of ground coffee from the cupboard above. "Growing up, it wasn't Thanksgiving unless someone lost a button on their pants."

Gil is still smiling as he pours the water into the back of the coffee maker and adds the grounds to the basket. When he pushes the brew button, though, the light doesn't come on. Instead, a quiet ticking fills the air, barely audible over the sound of the women chatting down the hall.

Malcolm has just enough time to think it's odd that the coffee maker sounds like one of those old-fashioned egg timers that the cook used to use when he was just a kid, before JT is shoving him to the back door that leads to the yard, his deep voice thick with dread as he yells "Bomb!" and rushes to drag Gil out of the way.

Catching his balance with his hand on the knob, Malcolm spins in time to see Gil and JT running towards the hall and then a bright light — like staring at the sun — erupts behind them. 

It's like being hit by a truck. 

The roar is deafening, so loud it feels like his eardrums have been torn open, and then he stops hearing it at all. The blast slams into him heavy and hot and with enough force that he crashes through the door behind him, the blindingly bright kitchen giving way to the darkness of the night in a sicking flipping motion as he rolls into the tiny backyard.

He hits the ground all wrong, his arm taking the initial impact and if the air hadn't already been punched from his lungs by the explosion, he would've howled as the bone snaps in two. 

When his body finally comes to a halt, when the world stops spinning around him, he lays in the yard, unmoving, unbreathing, his lungs refusing to expand for a terrifying moment.

Until, finally, he heaves in a gasping breath, the fresh air of the cool autumn night filling his lungs enough that he can push it out in an anguished wail.

He rolls onto his back, his right hand grabbing hold of his left arm, tucking it against his body as he moves to try and lessen the searing pain.

It doesn't help.

It takes a moment for him to get his bearings, to break through the pain that's ripping through his body and process what the helĺ just happened. And then he remembers.

Gil and JT. 

They were closer to the blast than he was. Besides that, the layout of Gil's kitchen meant the cabinets absorbed most of the explosion that should've hit Malcolm head on. It probably would have killed him otherwise.

Malcolm can only pray that they were far enough into the hallway to avoid the worst of the blast.

He pushes himself up, whimpering as his broken arm is jostled and his nerves reignite in a fresh wave of flames. As much as he wants to barrel into the house right away, he knows he needs to stabilize his arm before he does anything else. He doesn't hear the anguished cry that rips from his throat as he slides his jacket off, tucking it beneath his arm while he undoes the button on his cuff and gently pulls back his sleeve, knowing he needs to see what he's dealing with.

He doesn't have to roll the sleeve back far to see the problem. 

His ulna is definitely broken. About two inches below his wrist, the bone is pressing up against his skin, trying to break through, and he nearly vomits at the lump that's formed by the jagged bit of bone. He sucks in a deep breath and focuses on what he can actually accomplish right now. Using only his right arm, he carefully wraps the sleeves of his jacket around his neck, then uses his mouth to help tie them together in a knot, tugging hard enough that his teeth ache as he makes sure the knot will hold. Then he moves the knot to the back of his neck and uses the new cradle formed by the body of his jacket as a sling.

He nearly blacks out as he pulls his injured arm into the sling. The pain pulses and flows from the break down to his fingertips and shoots as far up as his shoulder with every tiny movement. 

It's fucking _agony_ to get it settled in the makeshift sling. 

He doesn't give himself even a moment of rest, though, before he's stumbling towards the house, and his heart forgets to beat, just for a second, before it starts pounding in his chest as he finally takes in the sight before him. 

All of the glass is blown out from the back of the house — along with the door and parts of the window casings — and through the gaping holes left behind, Malcolm gets his first glimpse of what's left of the kitchen through the layers of smoke and dust that fill the air.

It looks like a war zone.

The upper cabinets have either been blown clear off the walls or are just barely hanging on, ready to fall at the slightest movement. The ceiling has collapsed above where the coffee maker used to be, beams trailing down from the ceiling to the mess of debris that covers the floor. What's left of the lower cabinets on the far side of the kitchen are on fire, but even the flames seem somehow sluggish in the thick cloud that envelopes the room.

Everything else is destroyed. 

He stumbles around fragments of glass, plastic, and wood as he rushes through the doorway, his mind helpfully identifying shards of glass as Jackie's favourite casserole dish and splinters of wood as a spindle from the small dinette set that Gil's had in the kitchen as long as Malcolm has known the man. He forces down the memories that claw forward from the back of his mind, knowing he has bigger things to focus on.

"Gil!" Malcolm calls out, his voice grating in his throat around the cloud of dust and smoke that's trying to suffocate him. "JT!"

He uses the back of his good hand to swipe at the sweat that's dripping down his forehead, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him that it's far too warm and tacky to be sweat. It doesn't matter, though. He needs to move, now.

As much as he wants to search for his friends right away, and even though his panic for their safety is threatening to overwhelm him, he knows he needs to take care of the fire before it gets any worse. A quick glance around the room gives him a surprisingly simple solution to the problem.

Though the sink has been blown off the wall, in a small act of mercy, the exposed plumbing is spraying water all over the place. It's easy enough to find the remnants of what used to be a pot and fill it from the flood of water, dumping it over the slowly spreading fire. It takes a few pots worth of water, mostly because he can't fill it all the way to the top and still hold it with just one hand, since the handle had been blown clean off.

The entire time, he calls out. Mostly to Gil and JT, but then to the girls as well. He thinks the dining room should be far enough from the blast that they're okay, but he's not sure how much structural damage the house has sustained and can only pray that they're safe where they are.

It's not until he gets the fire put out and drops the pot to the ground that he realizes he didn't hear the telltale clatter as it hit the debris-strewn floor.

He stares at the pot for a moment then brings a hand to his ear, unsurprised when his fingers come away sticky and coated in blood. He's been so distracted by the pain in his arm and his panic for Gil and JT that he hasn't paid much attention to anything else.

And he doesn't start now.

He ignores the faint, high-pitched ringing that sounds like it's being smothered by an empty, aching nothingness, and turns towards the hall.

His balance is off and he needs to grab hold of whatever is left standing as he climbs over the rubble on shaky legs. The disorientation is only made worse by the dim light that hides half of what he's stepping on. The lights in the kitchen are out — or rather, are gone completely; they used to be in the part of the ceiling that collapsed in the explosion. The only light left is what's filtertering through the haze and rubble from down the hall in the dining room.

The sluggish trail of blood that's dripping down his forehead, forming into droplets at his right eyebrow and occasionally obscuring his vision, isn't helping either.

None of that seems to matter, though, as soon as Malcolm leaves the kitchen. The wall between the kitchen and hall has been blown open, leaving the ceiling hanging down in massive chunks here, too, along with towers of drywall and two-by-fours blocking the hall.

And he doesn't see any sign of Gil or JT.

He does, however, see Dani at the other end of the hall, trying to climb through the debris without knocking anything over. He thinks she might be calling out to him, but he doesn't actually hear her over the vacuum that seems to be sucking up all of the sound in the house.

He doesn't wait for her to get through. He drops to his knees and starts shifting the rubble with his right hand, working at the last place he saw the two men before his world flipped upside-down. It takes a minute for Dani to get through and when she does, she drops down in front of him, cold hands coming to rest on either side of his face, forcing him to look up, eyeing his forehead warily.

Her lips are moving. He's pretty sure she's yelling to him (at him?), but he can't make out a word of what she's saying. Whether it's the way he's squinting at her mouth trying to work out the words or the fact that he hasn't answered, something tips her off that he can't hear her and Malcolm can pinpoint the exact seconds she realizes it.

"Gil and JT are here somewhere," he says, or shouts, if the way she flinches back is any indication.

She nods her understanding and he's thankful that, once again, as worried as she obviously is, she puts it to the side and immediately helps him start digging. 

It doesn't take long at all to find JT, and as soon as they find JT, they know where to dig to find Gil, too. Both men are out cold, but with a shaking hand, Malcolm discovers a pulse at Gil's throat and then sags in relief when Dani confirms the same in JT.

"They're alive!" Dani shouts towards the dining room and Malcolm is pleased to note that he actually hears the words — only in one ear, and it's muffled and muted, but he hears it nonetheless.

Apparently her shout is loud enough to rouse JT, as well. The man groans and brings a hand to the back of his head where he's already sporting one hell of a goose egg and Malcolm imagines he must have a pounding headache. It doesn't seem to deter him, though, and before Dani or Malcolm can persuade him to stay still, he's pushing to his hands and knees, his cautious movements and jerking motions suggesting that he's injured, but it doesn’t slow him down.

As he pushes up, the light from the dining room catches along his back, revealing burnt and blistered patches beneath the ragged remnants of his dress shirt, blood and loose strips of skin painting his back in sickening hues and patterns.

Malcolm leans back, giving JT room to get his feet beneath him, his stomach rolling as he considers how much pain JT must be in. He sways even more than Malcolm did, and Malcolm would be willing to bet his inheritance that JT has a mild concussion — at best — to go along with his burns.

"You guys, good?" JT asks, and while the words come out a little slow and clumsily, they aren't slurred, which Malcolm counts as a small blessing in the disaster that this night has become. The fact that JT is yelling — the only reason Malcolm can hear him at all — is a sure sign that JT is suffering from a similar hearing impairment, and the way he's clutching his side and taking shallow breaths leads Malcolm to believe he may have cracked or broken a few ribs. JT doesn't even wait for an answer before he asks, "Tally?"

"I think she's in labour," Dani shouts, enunciating the words so there's no mistaking them. "Edrisa is helping her and an ambulance is on the way."

JT's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline but his gaze drops to Gil, still unconscious and half buried in the ruins of his house, and Malcolm can see the indecision engraved on every line on JT's face, on every muscle pulled tense in his body. The man is torn between protecting his team and finding his family, unwilling to leave his injured team behind even when a more important duty calls.

"Go," Malcolm says simply, "We'll take care of Gil."

With a brisk nod, JT turns towards the back door, avoiding the debris all together by skirting around the side of the house.

"Can you hear me?" Dani asks once JT's uneven footsteps have faded away.

"Yeah," Malcolm nods wearily, exhaustion hitting him hard and fast now that he knows everyone is alive. He carefully lowers himself so he's sitting next to Gil, continuing to pull debris off of him and toss it to the side. "You just need to speak up."

"Okay, but how about you just sit back for a minute and I'll dig him out?" Dani's eyes are gentle, concerned, as she stills his hand. He can't deny that resting for a minute sounds spectacular but he's worried about Gil. Worried how badly he's hurt. "Please."

The last part is quiet enough that he doesn't hear it, but he can see the plea in her face, feel the weight of it in her gaze.

He leans back against a wood beam that probably came from the ceiling, but is now propped up in the piles of debris, just enough that he can lean back and let some of the tension drain from his body. He reaches out to take hold of Gil's hand as Dani works to clear the last of the rubble from on top of him, slipping two fingers to his pulse point as he holds on to the man who is like a father to him.

Malcolm's eyelids begin to drift closed and he finds it harder and harder to pry them open each time they do. He's fairly certain he's about to drift off when Gil's hand gives his a gentle squeeze. 

He forces his eyes open and looks down to find Gil looking up at him where his face is still pressed against the hardwood floor beneath him.

"Don't move," Malcolm hurries to say, leaning forward to get a better look at Gil to make sure he's alright. The sudden shift rekindles the blazing pain in his arm and he freezes halfway through the movement, gritting his teeth and trying not to throw up as he feels the bone scrape against his flesh of his arm.

"Kid?" Gil's voice is so quiet that Malcolm isn't sure if he heard it or imagined it, but when finally manages to open his eyes, Gil is definitely concerned enough to have asked after him.

"I'm fine," Malcolm hurries to assure him.

When Dani scoffs at his response, he realizes his hearing really is clearing up — in one of his ears, at least. The other ear is still a void that aches and buzzes with a high-pitched tone that's starting to make his head pound.

"Bright, sit still," Dani admonishes, and when Gil shifts one of his arms with the clear intention of pushing himself up, she lays a hand between his shoulder blades and adds, "You too, Gil. Paramedics should be here any minute. Just...relax, both of you."

Malcolm looks at Gil, silently agreeing to follow Dani's instructions. Both men slump back down with matching groans — Gil to rest flat on the floor, Malcolm to lean back against the wooden post behind him.

"Gil, how are you feeling?" Dani asks, still pitching her voice a little louder than normal for their benefit.

"Been better," Gil admits with a groan. Malcolm and Dani share a concerned look at the admission; Gil is nearly as bad as Malcolm at admitting when he's injured, admitting he needs help. 

Malcolm can't hear Gil's breathing but he can tell by the rapid yet shallow rise and fall of his back that he's struggling to get a full breath in, and Malcolm would be willing to bet the man is nursing some bruised — or broken — ribs. Which makes him wonder what other injuries Gil is trying to cover up. Before he has a chance to ask, though, Gil voices the question that's on all of their minds.

"What the...hell happened?"

Malcolm's memory of the explosion is a little hazy, but he distinctly remembers the ticking of the coffee maker when Gil turned it on, and JT's anxious warning.

"There was a bomb hooked up to your coffee maker," Malcolm says slowly, struggling to reconcile the facts in his mind when it's nearly impossible to believe that it actually happened. 

"What?" Dani hisses in response, leaning forward. There's no way she didn't consider this was intentional, but hearing it confirmed is obviously something else entirely. "How?"

Personally, Malcolm is more concerned about the _why_ than the _how_ right now, but he supposes it's a fair question. He knows Gil makes coffee every morning, which means that someone was in his house sometime between when the man woke up that morning and when they were getting dessert ready in the kitchen. It's a short window, especially considering that Gil was home for most of the day preparing for their dinner.

The fact that their bomber was in the house, likely while Gil was home, alone and vulnerable, but didn't immediately set off the bomb tells Malcolm that he knew of Gil's plans for the evening and was waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. 

He only needs to consider it for a moment before he's certain that the bomber was targeting the whole team, which means that the attack must either be linked to their current case, or is retribution for a former case. Either way, it narrows down the suspect pool immensely.

"I think this may have been an attack on the team, not just Gil," Malcolm mulls aloud, gnashing his teeth as he shifts to make himself slightly more comfortable on the rubble he's perched upon and accidentally jostles his arm. "Which means someone's out for revenge, or is trying to derail our investigation." As he follows that train of thought to it's inevitable conclusion, his eyes snap up to Dani. "If he's trying to quell our investigation, he's probably nearby. Watching. Waiting to see who walks out and who's removed in a body bag."

Dani's hand instinctively reaches towards where her gun would usually be holstered at her hip, and she curses when she's met with nothing but the smooth slide of her blouse as it meets the waist of her dress pants. "Shit."

Gil's eyes dart towards the ceiling, seeing the gaping hole above them. "Is it...safe...to go…upstairs?" His breathing is sounding even more laboured than it was a moment ago and Malcolm prays the ambulance arrives soon.

"I don't know boss," Dani's gaze follows Gil's. "What did you have in mind."

"Gun safe...bedroom...44...536." The fact that Gil isn't even trying for complete sentences anymore has Malcolm's stomach twisting with dread.

"Gil?" Malcolm asks, but Gil cuts him off.

"Powell," he wheezes. "Go."

Dani is clearly conflicted. Malcolm can see just how badly she wants to stay, especially since Gil is deteriorating so quickly, but catching the asshole that did this is the best way to keep the team safe and they all know it.

Malcolm nods, a silent vow to stay with Gil, to help him in whatever way he can, and she reluctantly pushes to her feet and crawls back out the way she came. Malcolm knows she doesn't want to risk their bomber seeing her by following JT's path outside, knowing he would've seen JT already if he really is out there watching.

Malcolm has to tilt his good ear towards the ceiling to hear her progress, but he can tell when she makes it to Gil's bedroom and hopes that it's structurally sound enough for her to make it down safely. When a shower of dust begins to rain down as she walks over them, Malcolm leans over to cover Gil as best he can with his body, in case more than just plaster starts to fall on them.

Fortunately she makes it down without incident and Malcolm hears the front door open and close behind her. Dani is the strongest, bravest woman he's ever met and he knows she's more than capable of protecting herself. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop him from worrying about her chasing after someone who is clearly intent on killing them all. 

That worry is quickly overtaken by another as he leans back, uncovering Gil now that Dani is no longer testing the integrity of the floor above them. 

There's a tremor rocking Gil's frame. It's slight enough to be barely noticeable, looking almost like a shiver, but Malcolm worries about what exactly could be causing it.

"Gil, are you alright?" He cringes as the words leave his mouth. Obviously Gil is not alright.

"C-cold," Gil whispers. He doesn't seem able to keep his eyes open any longer and when Malcolm reaches over to feel Gil's pulse once again, he finds it too fast and too weak to be anything but bad.

"Shit," Malcolm mutters, as he runs through possible conditions in his mind. Shock? Probably. Internal bleeding? Almost definitely. "Hang in there. Paramedics will be here soon."

He moves carefully, undoing the knot around his neck with one hand and biting back the whimper that crawls its way up from his chest when his arm drops to his lap. As soon as it's free and Malcolm no longer feels like he's about to throw up, he fans his jacket out over Gil, covering him up as best he can.

Gil doesn't even respond. 

Thankfully, just as Malcolm is beginning to panic, starting to consider moving Gil to see if he can help somehow, the wail of sirens hits his good ear and Malcolm thinks it might just be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. 

And then, just as he begins to breathe a little easier, the unmistakable crack of a gunshot rips through the night.

And it's close.

Malcolm startles and spins towards the sound at the front of the house and in doing so, slams his broken arm against the post behind him. The jagged shard of bone that had been pressing up against his flesh, just barely contained, breaks through his skin at the impact, stealing his breath away with the sudden influx of all-consuming pain. 

His scream, when it comes, is enough to pull Gil from the half-conscious state he'd been floating in, blindly reaching out towards Malcolm before his eyes even begin to flutter open.

"Kid?" It's hardly a whisper, and even through the agony, Malcolm can read the worry in Gil's face the moment he forces his eyes open. 

Malcolm wants to assure him that he's fine, wants to tell him not to worry, but he can't even manage to suck in a breath around that white hot pain that's lancing through his arm and before he knows it, his vision is greying around the edges, an uncomfortable static filling his head. He recognizes that he's going to pass out if he doesn't manage to breathe around the pain.

Which honestly doesn't seem like the worst thing that could happen.

But then Gil's hand lands on his knee and he realizes that he'd be leaving Gil alone and unable to protect himself if he loses consciousness now, and there may very well be a bomber outside intent on killing them all.

He forces himself to inhale then pushes nearly all the air back out in a scream as the oxygen seems to fan the fire that's burning through every nerve in his body. But one breath leads to another, and another, and soon his vision has sharpened and he knows he's not going to lose his tenuous hold on consciousness. 

Yet.

When he looks down at his arm it's to find his sleeve so saturated in blood that it's beginning to drip onto the rubble below, staining the shadowy grey with an inky blackness that only shines red when it catches a flicker of light from down the hall. Worse, though, is the shape of the bone that's tenting his sleeve, sticking out obscenely from his limp arm. 

When the bile rises in his throat and floods his mouth, it's all he can do to swallow it back and keep from throwing up all over himself.

"Kid?" Gil asks again, but his voice is so weak that Malcolm can barely hear it.

"Hmm," Malcolm manages as a response, afraid that if he unclenches his teeth to answer, he won't be able to stop the scream that's bubbling inside of him. He does manage to wrap his good hand over Gil's, though, giving a too-tight squeeze an an attempt to assure him that he's alright.

Neither man manages to say anything more, but the fact that they're alive seems to be enough for both of them for the time being.

Something to be thankful for.

And as Dani leads a team of firefighters and paramedics through what used to be the back door, Malcolm thinks he's never been more thankful for anything in his life.

Through gasping breaths, Malcolm directs them to Gil. He fills them in on what happened, on Gil's symptoms, and refuses to be looked at until the two paramedics are kneeling next to Gil, assessing his vitals and checking him for injuries.

Malcolm turns to Dani as they work, shooting a questioning glance her way, too exhausted and in too much pain to ask what happened with their bomber. She understands what he's asking and fills him in anyways, doing her best to stay out of the way of the firefighters that are securing the scene.

"You were right," she says, a deep crease appearing between her eyebrows as she speaks and Malcolm can guess how this story is going to end. "He was out there, watching. He pulled a gun when I approached and I had to shoot. Medics have him and a uniform is staying with him."

"M'sorry," Malcolm grunts. Shooting a suspect is never easy and Malcolm doesn't have to ask to know that the shot may have been fatal.

Dani gives a terse nod in acknowledgement then straightens her shoulders and holds her head high. "Another team of paramedics is with Tally, JT, and Edrisa. I'm gonna go check on them, yeah?"

Malcolm can do little more than nod as one of the paramedics turns his attention to Malcolm, carefully cutting away his sleeve for a better look at what's below. Malcolm can't bring himself to look, but the way Dani's face falls, the way her lips pinch together, the way she gasps and brings a hand to her mouth, tells him all he needs to know about just how bad it is.

"Go," he groans.

She hesitates a moment but then leaves to check on the rest of the team. Malcolm closes his eyes, trying his best to avoid crying out as the paramedic stabilizes his arm, but the hot rush of tears down his cheeks can't be stopped. He bangs his head repeatedly against the beam behind him to try to distract against the pain. 

It doesn’t work.

Thankfully, it's not long before he and Gil are both being loaded onto stretchers, painkillers floating blessedly through their veins as they're removed from the rubble of the only happy home Malcolm has ever known.

The ride to the hospital pases in a blur and Malcolm thinks he may have been drifting in and out of consciousness on the drive, but his recollection is hazy and he can't be sure of much of anything as they wheel him into the ER for an initial assessment.

Unsurprisingly, he needs emergency surgery. But the idea of being put under, of being trapped in his mind, has him struggling to get away, nearly throwing himself off the bed in the process. It doesn’t take much for the staff to hold him down and pump him full of enough drugs that he drifts off before he can even ask after his teammates, before the nurses can wheel him to the OR.

Everything after that is an unrelenting blackness.

When Malcolm wakes up sometime later, nightmares forgotten before he even manages to drag his eyelids open, he's steeped in the floaty feeling of heavy painkillers and immediately recognizes the not-unpleasant sensation from previous hospital visits. There's a sense of calm, wrapped around him like a blanket, and Malcolm lets himself bask in the foreign sensation for a few moments, unthinking, unfeeling. Eventually, he looks down to find his arm in a hard cast and briefly wonders what must have happened to net him the new accessory, but then quickly allows his mind to wander away from searching for answers, at least for the time being.

His gaze drifts slowly from his arm to the window, out into the dusky, fathomless night. The dark sky, combined with the overall hush of the room and the hallway outside, makes him suspect it's likely the middle of the night. Knowing the approximate time doesn't particularly illuminate his situation, though, as he hasn't quite caught up enough to remember why he's here, despite the niggling at the back of his mind that's trying to push through and remind him. Before he has a chance to poke at the dawning memories, Edrisa walks through the door, the gloomy expression on her face vanishing as soon as she sees he's conscious.

"Bright! You're awake!" she nearly shouts and then slaps a hand over her mouth, presumably noting the late (early?) hour and realizing it would be best to keep her voice down. She tugs the chair over from under the window and when she speaks again, her voice is much softer. "How are you feeling?"

Her concern is clear in every worry line etched into her skin. But as much as Malcolm would like to assuage her concerns, when looks at her, flashes of their night begin to trickle into his mind, a gentle flow of images that flicker just behind his eyes. It's small snippets to start with — dinner with the team, laughter and conversation, and so, so much food. There's a peacefulness deep inside that accompanies the memories and a soft smile starts to sneak up on him.

But then he remembers walking into kitchen, putting the food away, watching Gil pull out desserts, and a sense of foreboding wipes the smile from his face. It happens quickly after that, the languid stream of memories turning to a deluge, and he abruptly remembers everything.

"Gil," Malcolm says, pushing himself up with his good arm and nearly tipping over as the room spins around him.

Edrisa jumps to her feet, hands fluttering just above Malcolm's chest before they land firmly on his shoulders to push him back to the bed. It's embarrassing how little force she needs to keep him down.

"Please lie down," Edrisa pleads. Even if Malcolm wanted to ignore the request, he couldn't. His entire body aches and feels impossibly weak, and the way his head spins means he's not getting out of bed anytime soon. "You have a minor concussion and required ulna ORIF open reduction and internal fixation surgery for the fracture in your arm...which you probably already know," she winces as she realizes that he was definitely awake when his broken bone pierced through his flesh. Malcolm thinks she likely heard his ear-splitting scream cut through the night. "You need to rest."

Malcolm brings his good hand to his head, his fingers and thumb spanning the length of his forehead to rub at his temples, but his fingers brush up against a gauzy bandage as he tries to massage the ache away. He doesn't recall hitting his head, but it certainly explains the fuzzy memories and dull pang resounding through his head.

"Everyone is going to be fine," Edrisa hurries to explain, her hands still resting on Malcolm's shoulders, obviously concerned he's going to try to get up again. "Gil is in recovery. He required surgery for an abdominal hemorrhage and perforation caused by the blast. The doctors said he pulled through beautifully and they expect a full recovery."

Malcolm sags with relief at the news, and before he even has a chance to ask after everyone else, Edrisa gives him the information he's so anxious for.

"JT has some pretty gnarly burns on his back, three fractured ribs, and a bunch of minor injuries that he doesn't seem terribly concerned about," she says, an air of reverence in her voice at his obvious stoicism in the face of such injury. "Doctors think he might need a skin graft, but, again, expect a full recovery."

Malcolm can't help but admire JT, himself. The man forced himself to his feet and walked away from that explosion, even with all those injuries, in order to make sure his wife and child were safe.

"Tally?"

Edrisa's somber expression brightens immediately. "Tally gave birth to a beautiful baby girl about a half hour ago. Mum and baby are both doing great, though Tally is worried about JT, and JT is worried about Tally, and they each put up such a fuss that the nurses are seeing if there's any way to have them in the same room."

Malcolm chuckles at the picture Edrisa paints, knowing just how stubborn both of the Tarmels can be. He knows neither of them will let something so insubstantial as hospital wards keep them apart. Especially not now.

Edrisa's smile fades as she says, "Dani's fine. Physically. But—" she pauses and Malcolm knows exactly what she's going to say before the words even form on her lips, "The bomber didn't survive." 

Taking a life is difficult for most cops, but Dani takes it harder than most, always searching for another option, an alternative that doesn't end in a body bag. Malcolm knows she'll be considering this a failure on her part and aches to comfort her, to keep her from fortifying the walls that she builds around herself.

"She's at the precinct, searching for a link between the bomber and your current cases. She's been there all night," Edrisa smiles sadly.

Of course, Malcolm understands better than most the urge to throw oneself into work to avoid processing trauma, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept that Dani is doing that right now. He promises himself to find her as soon as he can get out of the damn hospital bed.

"And you?" Malcolm asks, his eyes flying over the petite medical examiner, searching for any hint of injury. "Are you alright?"

"Me? I'm fine," Edrisa says, finally releasing one of his shoulders to brush away his concern with a flick of her wrist, but the quiver in her chin tells an entirely different story. "Not a scratch."

"Edrisa," Malcolm says, taking hold of her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. It's all it takes for her to break down, tears flowing freely. 

"I'm sorry," she hiccups, keeping a light grip of Malcolm's fingers while wiping her tears away with her free hand. "I really don't have a scratch on me. It's just. I've never been so scared. I thought that you—" she pauses and sucks in a shuddering breath. "I was so sure you, Gil, and JT were going to end up in my morgue."

Malcolm can certainly relate. He thought the same thing.

Edrisa only takes a moment to get herself under control, and then she pats his hand and scrubs away her tear tracks, straightening her shoulders in a way that he recognizes as her way of staying strong in a difficult situation. 

"Now, you need to get some sleep. Doctor's orders," she offers him a watery smile before turning towards the door.

"Um, Edrisa?" Malcolm asks quietly, not really wanting to know the answer to his final question, knowing it's the least of their concerns but dreading her response regardless. "My hearing?"

His one ear is fine, for the most part. Perhaps a little sore. The other, though, the one that was closest to the blast, still aches and isn't registering any sound at all. Healing takes time, he knows this, but his concern is for how long-lasting the damage is likely to be. 

"Oh. Um," Edrisa wrings her hands and Malcolm's stomach drops. "Your tympanic membrane ruptured in the blast and you sustained middle ear damage." She pauses for a moment, forcing her voice into something more positive as she adds, "It's possible that it could fully heal within a matter of months."

She leaves the alternative unsaid, but it hangs heavy in the air.

_Or it could be permanent._

Malcolm chooses not to dwell on that. Frankly, if that's the worst thing to come out of this night, he'll count it a win.

"Thank you, Edrisa," Malcolm says sincerely. "Would you mind keeping me updated on how everyone is doing?"

"Of course!" Edrisa smiles, "I'm going to go check on everyone now, but I'll be back in a few hours."

Malcolm settles against his pillow, turning his head to gaze out the window, watching as the sky slowly lightens, inky blacks coalescing into a thousand shades of blue.

He thinks about the long road to recovery that's waiting for all of them, knowing the entire team will face it head on with the determination they exhibit in everything they do.

He thinks about Gil's home, the backdrop of so many of his happy memories in life, now crumbling and unfit for habitation, and he knows that Gil will rebuild, stronger than before, like he always does.

He thinks about their team dinner together last night, feeling, more than ever before, that they're so much more than just a team.

And he thinks that, even though thanksgiving is over, he has an awful lot to be thankful for today.


End file.
